Point Mort
by nightmares.and.dreamscapes
Summary: "I don't want the end of my life to be accompanied with my memories, and certainly not the happy ones." Gilbert's musings as his life ends.


Point Mort

_I don't want the end of my life to be accompanied with my memories, and certainly not the happy ones.  
><em>**  
>The plan is merely to steal Elizabeta's stash of strangely homo-erotic pictures and paintings. It goes off without a hitch, the disturbing images are loaded into a box and secured under my arm. Of course, the darling Hungarian decides that this is the moment to come home. I'm standing in her driveway, staring at her. She stares back, alternating between the box under my arm which is clearly labeled "Boys' Love" and my face. After a few moments of this expressionless stand-off, she produces a cast iron skillet from her tote-bag and stalks forward. She swings her frying pan toward me several times. I try not to get hit, laughing at her angry expression. She falters for a moment and gives a challenging smirk at my antics before resuming trying to maim me. Commonplace, but has turned into a bit of a fun game. She does not intend to kill me, just hurt me for messing with her precious pictures. I don't mind. I consider her my friend. Friends let friends hurt one-another... Or maybe that's just Liz and me.<strong>

Rodrick plays with diligence. He is peaceful when his fingers are on the keys. An indescribable urge to come out of my hiding place and just sit before him listening overcomes my original intentions to allow the descent of one of his pastries onto his skull while he is too focused to pay attention. It pains me that I've become that soft. I was a leader and a rebel my whole life, prestigious, not now though. Sitting here listening to the Austrian play is slowly changing my mind. Thoughts melt away to emotions. The playing is raw. I can tell it has been composed by him. The notes make me stand. I am but a marionette. He ends the song as I step out of my hiding place. There is silence. The tart is still in my hand.  
>"I'm surprised you didn't come out sooner." he comments.<br>He's the kind of person who will play with all he can when he knows someone is watching. Even if that someone planned on playing a prank. I guess that could just be who we are for each other. Friends, ones who care about each-other and one-another's thoughts, or something.

_Most people would probably not want to leave this life after seeing that. They would grasp to the last threads to vigorously; those semblances of what was are pulled from the humans. It would hurt even more._

**Gasp. The pain is too much. It is not physical... not yet. The words cut me, a metaphorically true statement. They are my ending.  
>No, that is my ending. The bosses have given the order to finish me.<br>I feel the pain rip through me. I am left to dissolve.  
>People, friends and enemies alike, come forward. They bring me to a hospital; they are thinking that it may help. I will be comfortable.<br>They have never felt this pain before.  
>They do not know.<br>**  
><em>Think to yourself if you would want to see the faces of those you are leaving behind. They may love you, and they may not.<br>_  
><strong>Get togethers were such a bore. There was only half the alcohol needed to get completely smashed and make a fool of oneself with viable excuses. What was the excuse for going to Ivan's house when there wasn't enough vodka for Ivan himself? That creep is smiling at me from across the room too. The food is weird besides, and the suits are too tight around one's neck. I wonder if I make a scene about choking I can ditch this joint - In an ambulance too! How awesome would that be?<br>"Whatever you are planning Gilbert, please stop." the Austrian on his left scolds.  
>"Indeed, your expression implies a scene will be made. If you go through with it, whatever it is, I will make your punishment worse that whatever your sick payoff is." Liz states with a glint in her eyes.<br>"Elizabeta! Such things are improper subject matter for a lady." scolds Rodrick.  
>Gilbert's somewhat sinister expression softens into a mere smile as his friends begin to bicker.<strong>

_In any case, your death would affect them in some way or another at the least. That is not to say that your death will be tragic or beautiful. It will be death. People may make stories up about it: how you dove back into the inferno of a building in the effort to save more people, how you were beloved by all for your intriguing mind and endless philosophies, how you could not bear to see the injustices around you, how you simply could not go on, or were too old to. What will happen, is that you will die._

**My pet chick is brought to me by Ludwig and Feliciano. A sort of condolence I suppose, nothing compared to the pain, but a nice thought.  
>Feli begins to ramble, and I can hardly pay attention. There are bits I hear about his grandfather, from Rome. I get bits about God too. He's catholic, I suppose it's somewhat his job to make sure I'm converted before I die. Luddy doesn't intervene. He probably thinks that Feli needs this as a goodbye. My brother himself does not make mention of dying or God before he leaves. He presses his lips to my forehead instead. The tears he spilled into my hair burn my scalp. Where he kissed is agony, but I make no sound. I know it is all part of the process.<br>**  
><em>It's hopeless to dwell on death I suppose. It seems that the more you think of it, the sooner it comes. Questions like, "Will there be something after the end?" seem just as menial. It is the end. It does not really matter if there is more or not. All one can hope for is to end on a high note.<br>Which is why I want to die listening to what I think is the most beautiful music in the world. I am._

**Rodrick is seated at his piano, Elizabeta has my head in her lap, and Gilbird sits beside us both. We are in the music room of Rodrick's house as per my instance. The song begins. As Rodrick starts a melody, Liz strokes the notes into my palm, defining them. They both make the music so real, full of feeling. The pain has made me numb by now, her soft touches are welcome.  
>The song Rodrick plays is not happy, it speaks of a goodbye. It seems to tremor on the low notes.<br>I have no monitors to check my heart rate, I have no IV connected to my arm. I am just me, sustained by nothing but the notes.  
>The playing is a bit faulty for Rodrick's standards, and Elizabeta can't stop crying, but I could not be happier.<br>**

_**It is too bad I will not hear the end of this song. **_


End file.
